My money crisis

Day 1 (Saturday afternoon): Everything’s going so well. I have the entire day to check e-mail and spend time on the internet. I casually stop by an ATM on the way to the internet café because I’m out of cash. My one and only debit card that has worked 10 times already in the same city, at the same ATM, decides it’s done giving me money. I put the card in the machine and it simply does not give it back. I have a quick panic attack and an out of body experience. I just kind of froze next to the machine. The only other thing I have is an emergency credit card my parents gave me—but even in an emergency, credit cards don’t work as automatic cash. Credit cards are also not taken by the man selling oranges and t-shirts out of a basket in the Rabat medina—believe it or not. I have no cash money, and no way to get any.
I walked, in an absolute daze, to the internet café, called my parents an instantly broke down into obnoxious tears. They probably thought I had been mugged or something much worse (Mom and Paul: I apologize for the drama by the way). We figured out together that I can either use the credit card when that’s available, or they can wire money to me if I am unable to get a new card.
I e-mailed my bank and asked what was going on, and what I need to do to get that card or another card to me as soon as possible… hopefully they e-mail me back asap.
Day 2: I can hardly sleep because I’m totally freaking out about this issue. Although I realize much MUCH worse could have happened, I just hate that this added stress is all of a sudden in my life!!! I was lying in bed thinking “my life is suuuuucks” when I remembered my friend CB getting that call about her brother when we were on the train back from Tangier and I wanted to slap myself in the face. My money is still there at least! This isn’t really the crisis I turned it into yesterday. I just have to go out of my way to retrieve my money. MUCH worse could have happened. And, thankfully, I told my host family and they were very sympathetic, as well. My sister is going to go with me tomorrow afternoon to the bank that took the card and hopefully they might have some answers. I also added up in my head how much money I probably need for the rest of my trip, if my parents need to wire it to me, and that was actually a very soothing activity that made me feel a little bit less out of control. If I’ve learned anything from this thus far, it’s that I really hate not being in control. As much as it may not seem on the outside, organization—especially MY individual organization of self—is such an important factor to my sanity.
I have 50 dirhams that has to last me a while? (That’s like 7 dollars) My host family told me they would also lend me money until I could pay them back which was very generous and very nice of them as well.
Ughhhh this is simply annoying!
Later this evening I checked my e-mail and Bank of America wrote back saying that “there has been a hold placed on my card” but to get another one sent to me I simply need to verify my new address and a new card will be sent in 4-16 business days. (By the way, 4-16 is a big difference! I hope I’m closer to the 4 side or it might not actually get into my hands until December) fingers crossed…
Also... on a very different, brighter note, last night I went with a few friends to a “Tex Mex” restaurant in the rich part of Rabat—a part of the town I had yet to actually go to—and my burrito and margarita was literally to die for. I mean the rice was saffron rice not Spanish rice, but it was muy delicioso nonetheless. When I got home tonight, I big plate of spaghetti was waiting for me. But I was so excited to eat SPAGHETTI I didn’t really stop and think about how much was on the plate. I remember thinking once I dove in that I should, under no circumstance, actually eat this entire plate. But 3 and ahalf minutes later it was gone… I had no self control. But this is really making the spaghetti sound more spectacular than it was. It had a texture more similar the play-dough version we used to make in grade school and it somehow actually tasted like play-dough too. (Seriously though, what could have possibly been put into it that made it literally taste like play-dough?! I’m flummoxed really!) But apparently neither of those factors was enough to stop me from consuming 3 servings of it. I complain about all the bread but somehow allow myself that many noodles? I make no sense I agree…
ALSO I discovered what it was that I thought was so so so delicious (I believe I said “the best thing I’ve ever eaten”) the first week I was here. It’s called pastilla. I understand this is not a new concept outside Morocco, but it was new to me, and I had a little mini chicken pastilla pastry for a snack today which was also incredible.